We abandoned Brother at the entrance to Wat Phrasom.‘The monks will look after him,’ I said.Tears glistened in Tip’s eyes. ‘There are dogs there.’‘And cats,’ I said, trying hard to justify our actions. ‘Brother is a big strong one, he’ll survive.’‘He’ll go hungry.’‘That’s not true. You know he catches birds and snakes -- well that’s what the previous owner told us when we moved into our new home.’She lapsed into silence as I turned the car round. Brother was still sitting there looking lost. I drove away down the meandering country lane, past acres of green rice fields and rubber plantations.Tip sniffed, chanted a prayer in Thai. I looked at her. She seemed lost too.‘I’ve never done anything like this before,’ she said.‘Nor me. And if Brother hadn’t started to stalk Little Girl, and been friends like he was with Boy, we’d have kept him.’‘Boy is his...’‘Yes, I know — “family”. But look, you’ve still got the scratches when he attacked Little Girl this morning. He hates her. You think we can keep guard all day, every day? No, he’ll be happier at the temple.’Tip didn’t answer. We joined the ring-road heading towards Chiang Mai and I put the car into cruise mode. We had purchased Little Girl from the market so Boy could have a playmate. When I first held her, this tiny dappled kitten with searching blue eyes, she wouldn’t let go of me.It was a bond I wouldn’t break.At the time, I thought that Brother would leave with his previous owner, leaving us with Boy — now ourhalf-Persian kitten -- but they didn’t want him. It was the start of some sleepless nights wondering if Little Girl would be safe. It couldn’t go on...‘...Steve? Where are we?’I looked around. ‘Dunno,’ I said. ‘I’m lost, too.’

Tania Simpson unwrapped. Her picture was adorned on colourful posters that were taped to the walls. Press cuttings of her reports were pinned to boards. The TV news item was a looped replay of her report at the “hand in the woods” murder scene and other interviews she’d had on HTV. There were pictures of her walking along the canal towpath with her dog. Poor quality; they seemed to have been printed off.The most chilling was a girlie calendar with Tania’s head superimposed. Sunday’s date had been circled by a red felt tip pen – and a comment.‘Can’t wait to taste you, tonight you’re mine.’Hillock didn’t waste time but as he explained after cursing his way through several irate phone calls, emergency back-up could be delayed. According to him there was a major drugs bust which was set-up for early the following morning. Pre-dawn raid, he called it.‘The timing is shit,’ he said. ‘Looks like we’re the A team.’Paul tried Jackie’s phone. No answer.Smithy was left to guard, and hopefully secure the premises until the crime scene investigators arrived, while Tony radioed in to locate Tania’s address; her phone – anything they could think of, to warn her. Maybe even scare-off Boyson. They were pretty sure it was Boyson’s flat; although it had to be confirmed.Hillock kept looking at his watch inside the patrol car. Snow was starting to fall. ‘What’s keeping them?’The radio crackled into life. An address was given. Tony put the siren on and floored the accelerator. While the motorway to Stonehouse was clear of snow, when they exited it was a different story. Slow moving traffic behind a gritter lorry.Tony grimaced. ‘Hold on tight. It could be tricky.’The patrol car swerved past, sending up a spray of snow and grit into the air, and narrowly missing an oncoming van. It shot across the Easington roundabout, up to, and past, the industrial estate and under the railway bridge.‘Turn off the bloody siren.’ Hillock commanded. ‘Cut the headlights when we get close.’ He prodded Tony. ‘You cover the back, while we hit the front.’Tony pulled up at the beginning of the cul-de-sac and killed the engine. He handed Hillock a truncheon and Paul a pair of handcuffs – just in case. They jumped out, there was only one cottage with lights on; a Land Rover was parked outside. Hillock and Paul crept up to the front door while Tony was directed around to the back.‘This is it, all right,’ said Hillock looking at the house number. ‘Can you hear anything?’Paul listened, bent down and lifted up the letter box flap. ‘Lights are on, but the room door is closed. Muffled noise ... sounds like a woman ... could be Tania.’ He listened again; jumped up. ‘That was a scream for help.’Hillock pointed to the pane of glass beside the door. ‘Stand back.’ He swung the truncheon and crashed it through the glass; reached in with his other hand and freed the door catch. Another scream. ‘Follow me,’ he shouted, as he barged into the hallway. There was a closed door in front of him. And another cry for help, inside. Past the staircase; a dog was whining at the top.Hillock hoisted the truncheon above his head and wrenched open the door.

The red mist cleared. He focused on the two bodies; both were unconscious but still breathing. Caesar had scarpered upstairs; pretty awful watch dog it made.Her name was Jackie Steel, according to her ID. He sniggered. A police officer – but now his victim. Her phone rang while he was searching her handbag. It stopped. He switched it off.Someone didn’t know where she was.Perfect.He had time - maybe not all night, but enough to engorge himself.On Tania.Then Jackie.On the carpet, in the lounge.There would be punishment. Enough for Tania to realise she’d hurt his feelings. He closed the lounge door, wandered into the kitchen and selected his instruments from the drawers; there were a few garden implements in the bottom one. He ripped apart two tea towels; it would be painful and they would try and scream. He took a large bottle of water from the fridge.He gagged Jackie. She could watch if she wanted.It was time.He tipped ice-cold water over Tania. She started to splutter and opened her eyes. Her forehead creased. He showed her the gag; put a finger to his lips; showed her the paring knife.‘Just watch. Move and I’ll hurt you.’He bent down and fixed the gag in place. Then he slowly slit the clothes from her body; blouse, bra, and skirt, and left her wearing her panties.He put on a sad expression, pulled out the Rolex and strapped it on her ankle. ‘I brought you a gift from Jimmy, but then you spoiled it all by bringing your friend back here. You stood me up.’Her eyes widened, her face crumbled, she began to moan.He ignored her; caressed her right foot. The secateurs nipped off her little toe. She convulsed, made gagging noises and tried to wriggle away.He slapped her; showed her the carving knife. He stroked the blade down her cheek, drawing droplets of blood. She would feel them. ‘Behave.’It was enough. She quietened down.He glanced at Jackie. She was out of it. Perhaps he had hit her too hard; shame she’d miss the party. Then he stood up and slowly undressed. So Tania could see how excited he was.He straddled her, dripped water over her nipples and teased them erect with the knife. She was shaking her head, her chest was heaving; tears were flowing down her cheeks. He licked them off.This was the moment he had been waiting for.He whispered in her ear. ‘Tonight, you’re mine.’ He sat up, his fingers felt inside her panties.Ripped them off.

Sunday lunchtime at the Brighton bar was a no-show for any of the Seagulls. By two-thirty Paul had given up. He dropped off his empty bottle of Stella – when in Amsterdam – at the bar and walked out.Right into Bird-brain.They stared at each other, a yard apart. Bird-brain broke the silence. Smug look.‘Where’s your chick, then?’Paul took aim. ‘Sorting out the search warrants ... you’re on the list.’Bird-brain’s expression darkened; his mouth spat out gutter language a sailor would be proud of – even with a belly full of rum to loosen the tongue.Paul closed in and took a shot. ‘Take it from me ... if you don’t want Alsatians sniffing up your arses and busting your drug-team into relegation, tell me where I can find Ox.’By the look on Bird-brain’s face, Paul had scored.Goal.Ox, according to Bird-brain before he did a runner, was tall and lanky with a black, spiky haircut – and had territorial rights to sit in the Prof’s chair. The lad himself, wearing faded jeans and a roll-neck sweater – together with his similarly attired mates – was watching TV at the Bard. The pub was close to the college – football talk and chicks were the main attraction for the Seagulls.Paul wasn’t going to act heavy, not there. He was outnumbered; plus he needed help to identify Boyson. He bought a pint of Bitter, and perched himself on an empty bar-stool.Waited, had another pint. Waited some more.The Seagulls were reliving their league win. Sheffield United had been stuffed good and proper. A two-nil scoreline; they were happy enough.Which boded well for Paul.He got his opportunity when Ox went for a leak. The urinals were out the back in an open-ended shed enclosure. While Ox was occupied in flushing a few fag-ends down the guttering, Paul showed his warrant card, followed by a photo-fit picture of Boyson.‘Quiet word.’ He motioned to the fire exit; the door being propped open with a telephone directory.Ox didn’t jump, didn’t register alarm; just shook himself dry, zipped up his fly and led the way out. He took out a packet of Lucky Strikes and offered one to Paul. He glanced around; made sure no one was listening.‘I need insurance,’ he said. His voice was deep and cultured; clearly this Seagull was an educated criminal, and soccer thug. Brains and brawn, leadership qualities.Paul expected no less from the Yuppie grapevine. Ox had been forewarned. No doubt he had been clocked the moment he had arrived – and left to stew while Ox made up his mind to deal with it personally. He turned down the offer of a cancer stick and brought out a couple more pictures, showed them. ‘If you know this man, tell me ... and I’m off your back.’‘That’s all?’From the surprised expression, Paul presumed Ox had expected more. He nodded. ‘That’s all. Finito.’Ox stared, lit up a fag, weighed up the odds, decided to risk a punt. ‘Seen him ... or someone a lot like him ... around Harmony Estate ... don’t know his name ... or where he lives.’Paul gestured, hoping to elicit more information. ‘Harmony Estate is a big place.’Ox flicked his half-finished fag onto the ground and ground it in. He made a move to walk back inside. ‘There’s a lady in block H ... we call her “Opera” ... who sits outside her flat with Pavarotti blaring and binoculars glued to her eyeballs. Ask her.’Paul started to follow, but Ox held up a hand. A couple of his spiky mates were standing at the door. ‘I wouldn’t bother coming back in here, sometimes things get out of hand.’Message received loud and clear. Paul headed out the back entrance. He looked at his watch. Time was moving on; it would soon be dusk. He decided to give Harmony Estate a quick once-over to check on this Opera lady, and then Carol’s flat.He got lucky. He heard the musical arias first – then he spotted Opera almost immediately he walked up to H block. She was wrapped in a huge shawl and seemed to be packing up for the day. He waved and jogged over to the entrance and up the stairs. She seemed excited to meet a police visitor - especially a detective - and invited him inside to meet her son.‘Getting too dark and it’s too cold for me, dearie,’ she said, while warming herself by the electric fire. ‘Cup of tea, dearie?’Paul nodded, grateful for the chance to get warm himself. Out came the Delphi teapot and china cups, her son doing the honours. For an old lady, she had her wits about her, and Paul was amazed as she regaled the coming and goings of Harmony Estate.‘The Bill is my favourite,’ she said. ‘And Reg Hollis is such a sweetie.’He agreed that Hollis was a sweetie; wouldn’t last five minutes in real life without having the piss taken, but the series was popular...He declined another offer of a cup of tea. He’d had two, and he needed to get going. It was back to business. He pulled out his envelope of photos. ‘I need your help to identify this man ... and where he lives.’She carefully studied them and passed them to her son. ‘Wasn’t that the man with sack loads of rubbish ... you know ... the one moving in to that black girl’s flat?’‘That’s right, mum, could be him. He was coming and going for weeks.’Paul wasn’t clear. ‘Black girl’s flat?’Opera tapped his arm and winked. ‘Lady of the night.’ She cackled. ‘And during the day.’Her son shook his head. ‘Mum...’Paul was intrigued. Boyson? Black Tom? Sacks of rubbish? ‘Maybe I will have another cup of tea. He turned on his cheeky grin ‘Got any cake?’It was gone seven by the time Paul had the complete picture and a full stomach. He phoned Jackie to tell her he could be late – she started to ask questions - but the signal kept breaking up and he terminated the call.The black girl - Precious according to the advert in Granma Willis’ window - had only moved in to the flat a month or two back. Then she suddenly vanished – they hadn’t seen her since. The man moved in shortly after she disappeared. Block C, Third floor, Flat 36 – the one on the end of the balcony.He thanked Opera and her son - the meal was great - and rushed back to the nick and into the MIR. Even if it wasn’t Boyson, it sounded suspicious enough to warrant an investigation.Four people were working – catching up on HOLMES processing – and Hillock was lurking in the background. Paul switched on his computer terminal, and while he waited for it to power-up, he leafed through Jackie’s follow-up file.There it was – Sonja Borski and Precious Mogwase – could have been assaulted by Gilbert Pratt. Neither women were at home when Jackie had called and there was no record of a follow-up since on file. He checked the status on HOLMES – nothing there either - so both had fallen through the net.He took the file over to Hillock and told him about the latest lead to Boyson.Hillock dismissed it. ‘Another wild goose chase to Boyson on a hunch ... you’re jumping the gun again, Constable.’‘I heard that.’ A voice behind them. DCS Adam Forsyth. ‘Mr. Hillock ... DC James seems to be the only one with any detective skills.’ He made it sound like a reprimand. ‘The least we could do is to run with it.’ He fixed Hillock with a stare. ‘Or have you a better idea?’Hillock deflected the thrust and pointed at Paul. ‘You heard what Mr. Forsyth said. Use a couple of uniforms ... check it out.’Adam Forsyth wasn’t finished. ‘You go with them ... you might learn something.’Hillock’s face turned red. ‘Sir ... I don’t think...’He was interrupted. ‘That’s just it. You don’t. We’ve been beating our brains out for the last few weeks and got sod all to show for it. The Chief Constable downwards has been on my back to get a result. Now, when we get a lead ... however tenuous ... you ignore it.’‘But sir...’‘No buts, just sort it. I want a report first thing tomorrow.’ With that he turned on his heels and marched out.Paul could see that Hillock - to put it mildly – was seething. A bollocking by Forsyth in front of a junior officer was a sign that tensions were high. Not that Paul cared. He was still convinced Hillock was a nasty piece of work. Serve the bastard right.Hillock regained some composure. ‘Let’s get it over with.’There were no lights on at Flat 36, Third floor, Block C, but they could hear a TV inside. Hillock knocked a few times, elicited no answer. Same at the next door neighbour’s flat. He turned to Paul. Tony and Smithy were all ears.‘Sherlock. Your call.’Paul peered through the letter-box, shook his head, and bent his ear close. ‘Sounds like the news.’Hillock sniggered. ‘I don’t suppose it occurred to you that there could be someone in distress, inside.’ He looked at them. ‘That’s why I’m here.’ He beckoned to Smithy. ‘Open it.’The door was no match for Smithy. He splintered it with three blows and pushed open the door. Hillock led the way along the corridor and into the main room.‘Jesus,’ he said.

Jackie poked him in the ribs. ‘Seagulls are go, then?’He laughed, while buttering a piece of toast. ‘Too right. The early worm catches the bird.’Jackie had suggested a tactical withdrawal on Saturday night to leave cares and worries behind, and catch up on their relationship instead. Paul was more than happy with that.It was a good move. Sunday morning was bright. The sun’s rays were beaming through the kitchen window and the post-copulation mood was buoyant.While Paul was planning a lunchtime booze cruise - only one bottle, he said - to find Ox, Jackie was going to see Carol.They’d meet up later.Jackie had plenty of time to think while sat by Carol’s bed. Carol continued to be non-responsive for long periods, but then, at times, she would want to talk. Mainly about Serena, their lives together that had been ruined by a man like Gilbert...Carol was sleeping. Jackie stood up, stretched, and glanced out of the window. It was getting dark outside, but it wasn’t snowing. She looked at her watch. Half past four – just another hour – then catch the train back to Bridleton – and meet up with Paul at the Blacksmiths Arms.She arrived on the dot at seven. Country rock was on the music menu. She fancied a pint of Blackthorn Cider and took it with her into the annex room. The band wouldn’t start until eight, so even if Paul was held up there was enough time...The call came at seven fifteen. By that time the room was filling up and it was difficult to hear what Paul was saying. She got up and moved out into the hallway. He was saying something about a lead to where Boyson was living that he needed to sort – could take some time.‘How much time?’‘Can’t say ... look, I can’t hear you ... it’s breaking up .... I’ll call later, okay?’Jackie cursed. Always the bloody job; it could be one hour - or four, more likely. She turned round to go back into the room, and came face to face with a worried-looking Tania Simpson. Tania grabbed her arm. ‘Just the person.’Jackie frowned. ‘Is that so?’Tania wasn’t put off. ‘Come with me, darling ... I need to talk.’What the heck...?Jackie allowed herself to be steered into a quiet part of the lounge. Tania plunged straight into the sensationalism. ‘Jimmy ... he’s a friend of mine ... has disappeared.’ It was a story about not answering her calls; not being at his house or office, and his BMW vanishing into thin air.Jackie was not impressed. ‘It’s only been one day; a bit early to treat Jimmy as a missing person.’Tania pulled at Jackie’s arm and pointed to a small entourage by the bar. ‘It’s Tim’s birthday .... Jimmy was planning a surprise.’Jackie suppressed a smile. ‘Well, perhaps this is it.’ She shrugged, dismissed it. ‘Anyway it’s not my problem. I’m not on duty ... as you know...’And as she said that, a thought crystallised.There’s always a way.‘...on second thoughts...’ She left it hanging.Tania nibbled the bait. ‘Yes?’‘I suppose I could set-up a vehicle trace, hospital check, that sort of thing.’Tania face was a mixture of surprise and delight. ‘Ooh, would you darling ... that would be great.’Jackie pounced. ‘I need a favour in return. Headline coverage from an undisclosed source.’Tania bent her head; opened her mouth, and grasped the bait. ‘Tell me.’Hooked.Jackie told her about the police corruption. Also said there was no rush, after all, they both had other things to do on a Sunday night.Tania, though, smelt blood. She dismissed Tim’s party, said this was “News”, and she wanted to file the story that night before political barriers were put up, before the police sought an injunction to suppress the story.Jackie gulped: cause and effect. The realisation sank in. Maybe she had jumped the gun.Blood would run, but whose blood?Jimmy hadn’t turned up, neither had Paul phoned. Tania said her goodbyes and they stopped off at Jackie’s apartment. Tania started to scrabble in her handbag. ‘Damn ... I left my reading glasses back at home.’ She thought a bit. ‘And my computer’s there.’ She looked at Jackie, ‘Do you mind...?’Jackie tried to back-pedal. ‘It can wait...’But Tania waved aside her objections, offered to drop her back later. Too late now, she was in deep. She packed Dixon’s confession and the recorder into her back-pack, ready for Chez Tania.Jackie had guessed right. Tania’s cottage was the one close to the towpath. The weather had turned foul, snow was drifting in and it was misty. Tania opened the door, turned on the hall light, and the Pitbull trotted out.Tania pointed to the lounge. ‘Take a seat; make yourself a drink ... bottle in the fridge. Leave Caesar to do his business ... he’ll whine to come back in. I’ll just go and sort out my office.Ten minutes of waiting with a glass of Waitrose’s best wine while Tania changed, went to the toilet and generally started to get her act together. From what she could make out, the cottage had a kitchen and walk-through lounge area downstairs, plus a utility room that doubled as an office. Tania had gone upstairs to the bathroom, so presumably that’s where the bedroom - maybe also a guest room - was located.Decor seemed to be functional: three piece suite; table heaving with news cuttings and magazines; heavy-duty carpet; push-button TV resting on a cabinet; various press photos adorning the walls - plus a chewed rug and a doggy smell.Caesar whined and started to scratch at the front door. Tania was setting up her computer. ‘Jackie ... could you...?’***Fucking bitch.He pounded the passenger seat with his fists. Tania had stood him up again. Bitch had another with her – vaguely familiar – on his date. His date.How dare she?His perfect plan was compromised. Jimmy had been eliminated; her neighbours had left; the cottages were empty, and snow was falling.It was all her fault.He was horned-up and ready; drooling with anticipation. All week he had busied himself by building a shrine in her honour at his flat: photos, press cuttings and recorded TV pictures. He had suppressed his urges, even while fishing – but now he wanted her.Needed her.They went inside, a light came on. The dog came out. His surgical gloves fingered the cosh and the twine in his pocket; he steeled himself, and took several deep breaths.Improvise.He crept up to the side of the house. The dog came trotting back. He was ready with the cosh, but the dog just sniffed around his feet, and then started to whine and scratch at the door.Whoever opened the door would be struck – and he would use the surprise to do the same with the other. If the dog intervened, he’d kill it.He had all night.Nobody to disturb him.***Jackie moved to the front door. Tania was saying something, her phone was ringing; Jackie turned to listen as she opened the lock, Caesar scuttled in between her legs.She felt the cold air – there was a sharp pain in her head.And then it all went black...

Trouble was, Jackie couldn’t think of another way. Not right then. She’d come so far, only to be turned away at the gate. By the time she’d jogged back to her apartment in Bridleton her adrenalin was spent. She sank down on the sofa; fell asleep...She was in a cell. Hillock was standing outside. ‘You’ll be safe in there for as long as you live,’ he taunted.There was a shadow behind him. The Face slid into view. He was holding a stun gun. He unlocked the cell door and strode inside. ‘I warned you, DS Steel.’He pressed the gun against her and pulled the trigger. A thousand stars exploded in her brain. She felt herself falling onto the concrete floor. She put out a hand.‘Somebody rescue me.’There was a clank of chains. Orson Angers swam into view. He shook his head. ‘If there was any other way.’Images passed through her mind: Marty in a body-length plaster cast, Brains offering a cup of tea, Paul with a Seagull on his head, a man fishing, Tania Simpson laughing, a pocket phone ringing......it woke her up. She had fallen off the sofa. The phone was beside her; she saw his number.Paul.She hit the green button; listened. He sounded concerned. ‘I was worried when you didn’t call. Are you all right?’Her voice was groggy. ‘Fell asleep. What time is it?’‘Just gone four.’‘Oh, hell. I’ve got to get to the hospital ... can you give me a lift?’‘How’s Carol?’‘When I called this morning she had regained consciousness.’‘Great. When do you want to go?’She could feel the dried sweat patches on her skin. She needed a bath and a change of clothes, some colour to lighten her mood. ‘I’ll be ready by five ... anytime after that.’‘Okay ... see you in a bit.’ He rang off.She was sitting on the sofa, glumly looking into her hand mirror, and pulling out a few stray white hairs when he turned up.When she opened the door, he was quick off the mark. ‘You look great.’So do you.She brushed the compliment aside, but gave him a coy smile and a punch on his arm. ‘Save the flattery for later, big boy.’While they were in the car – his mother’s Land Cruiser – she brought him up to speed.His reaction was as predictable as hers had been. ‘Angers is taking the piss ... Hillock ... a good guy? No way, Jose.’He hooted at a pheasant on the roadside. ‘Dumb bird ... I can’t believe it.’Jackie heard a bump, looked in the side mirror and saw a trail of feathers floating in the air. ‘Whatever ... Angers is not going to shift his arse. Bottom line ... I’m shafted.’Paul was peering into the rear-view mirror. ‘Fucking thing just stood there.’She nudged his arm. ‘Paul.’He glanced at her: nodded his head. ‘Shafted.’Me, the bird, or both?Carol wasn’t talking. She ignored them, didn’t react to their wishes for a speedy recovery, as though she wanted to be somewhere else. She lay in her bed, still attached to a couple of monitors and a saline drip, and stared blankly at the ceiling tiles. The monitors were bleeping steadily; heart rate and blood pressure normal.Jackie tried once more. ‘Carol ... we’re trying to help you...’Carol closed her eyes and yawned. This time she answered, her voice trembled. ‘Leave me alone, I’m tired.’Jackie glanced at Paul. He shrugged.She bent in close. ‘I’ll come and see you tomorrow. Maybe you’ll feel better, then.’Carol opened her mouth, murmured. ‘Serena...’It was no use. Carol did not say anymore. But it was enough for Jackie. She dragged Paul to his feet. ‘Come on ... let’s go down to the lab and see if Helga’s working today.’The Ice Queen was engrossed with the contents of a test tube, but her face melted when she saw Jackie - even smiled at Paul when he went walkabout.‘Early days, but results are positive.’Jackie made sure they were on the same wave-length. ‘Carol, you mean?’Helga held up the test-tube. ‘See this.’ Jackie peered at the red liquid inside. ‘What am I looking at?’‘That’s Carol’s immune system ... a few million cells.Of course.Helga was bubbling. ‘And it’s healthy. Once we identify what’s happening ... and why ... we could inhibit this viral strain of AIDS.’Jackie’s eyes lit up. ‘Really?’Helga put on her severe face. ‘It’s promising ... but there’s a long way to go.’Paul was hovering at her shoulder. He came to the point. ‘How long?’Helga was evasive. ‘New drugs are constantly being developed...’And that was it.Helga made no bones about it. Preventative methods would be the first line of defence. Already, seventeen known cases had been recorded, and this number would rise in the short term.Jackie frowned. ‘What’s your best guess?’Helga was cryptic. ‘The government would act before numbers became critical.’Paul grimaced: the slow pace of bureaucracy. ‘By then it could be out of control.’Helga opened her arms, made the gesture. ‘That’s the message we have to get across ... without causing widespread panic...’How?

Jackie dreaded Saturdays. All outstanding matters from the week seemed to coagulate, and filter through into the week-end.This Saturday was no different.Carol had regained consciousness – great news - but she was still on life support. That meant a visit to the hospital at some point. Make absolutely sure she was on the mend – but it meant more prodding and poking by the psychotherapist. Then the court needed to be informed - and social services. If it came to it, Carol would need to be detained.But that would have to come later. She changed into her jogging gear, filled a small back-pack and set off to Orson’s house. The fisherman was still there – he seemed to be engrossed in a newspaper, but this time there was no Tania Simpson to spoil her day.The DCI was up and about, chomping away on a bacon-buttie when he opened the front door. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and licked off a splash of brown sauce. ‘Just finishing breakfast,’ he intoned, with a smile on his face. ‘You know where the bathroom is.’When she returned to the kitchen, Orson had poured coffee. She unpacked her bag and gave him a giant chocolate bar. ‘It’s not a bribe.’He looked pleased and started to unwrap it. ‘Mid-morning snack,’ he explained, with a guilty look. ‘Don’t want to waste away.’Not that there was much chance of that. However, the chocolate played its part. With his mouth full, he sat quietly while she updated him on her Bristol trip, including the confrontation with The Face. Then he listened to the tape recording without interrupting. At the end, he humphed. ‘That’s it?’Jackie nodded. ‘What do you think? Is it enough?’He frowned, seemed to be thinking. Finally he made up his mind. ‘I ought to own up. I’ve been digging around. More than that, really, I called in a mountain of favours. It’s not good news. Word on my grapevine ... this is classified ... is that the corruption is higher-up than Hillock ... that’s if Hillock is implicated.’It felt like a bomb had erupted in her head. ‘Are you saying...?’ He was holding up a hand.‘However unbelievable it sounds, Hillock maybe undercover ... a plant.’She banged the table and spilt her coffee. ‘That bastard has ruined my career.’He eyed her. ‘Jackie ... with your track record, and exposure of Marty, he could have done it to protect you ... and Marty.’It was all too much to take in. Too many questions. She shook her head. ‘No ... it’s not possible.’ She clutched at a straw. ‘Marty found himself in hospital.’‘And you could have gone the same way. Why do you think The Face let you off? Because you couldn’t touch the Creek Brothers.’The realisation sank in. She slumped in the chair; coffee, now cold – the damp patch leaving a bronze stain on the table top. ‘So I’m being hung out to dry while Hillock plays Sherlock Holmes.’He nodded. ‘It’s one possibility.’‘And the other possibility is that Hillock is as corrupt as the Ace of Spades.’He nodded. ‘That also.’‘So what are you going to do?’‘One other thing I haven’t told you. There’s something big coming up ... a major drugs bust across the UK ... and I don’t want you to be caught up in it.’The message was clear. DCI Orson Angers was going to sit tight and watch it all play out. She put all her belongings back into her bag and stood up. ‘I just hope you can live with yourself.’It was a cruel barb, and Orson was visibly affected. His voice followed her out into the hallway. ‘Jackie...if there was any other way...’She slammed the door behind her.There’s always a way.

He congratulated himself. Jimmy’s elimination had gone to plan, it had worked perfectly. He bundled the body and cosh over into the passenger seat, prised the ignition key from Jimmy’s clenched hand, started the engine, put the gear stick into drive, and quietly cruised out of the cul-de sac - smoother than a F1 Pit stop.He had fleetingly thought of tasting Tania, taking a risk with the neighbour, but he fought down the urge. It would be all the sweeter on Sunday with nobody to prevent his fulfilment.At that time of night there was no one to see him pilfer Jimmy’s belongings; new mobile phone, wallet, and expensive Rolex – and no one to see him dump the body in the canal, amongst the thick weeds. He had chosen the spot while on his last fishing trip; car access, but secluded – a perfect hiding place for a rope and two gym weights. Jimmy could do as many press-ups as he liked; the big iron discs would keep him submerged for at least a few days.He parked the BMW in the car-park at Stonehouse station, no ticket needed. He packed Jimmy’s keys, the cosh and his stash into a large leather bag that he found in the boot, hoisted the bag over his shoulder, and walked back to where he’d left his Cortina.Jimmy’s disappearance would be a mystery, but he would wear Jimmy’s Rolex and tell Tania all about it......On Sunday...

It would be soon. Sunday was coming closer. He could smell her already; heightened arousal while he toyed with her body. And he would have all night; no nosy neighbours to hear her screams. It would be worth the wait.He could picture the scene and ran it through his mind once again while he sat there in the busy lounge bar, nursing a pint, pretending to read a newspaper. Tania would return home from the Blacksmith Arms after a few drinks with the local gentry. He listened to their loud voices, especially hers with an affected accent and false charm. But it wouldn’t be false for him; he would make sure she meant every word.She would mean it, no question.The routine was pretty much established, although her working hours were flexible. Sometimes she would rush home and change, other times she’d come straight here. She would arrive between seven and eight at night, launch into a large gin and tonic and catch up on the day’s gossip.He was all set for this Sunday, he overheard her promise to be here, Tim’s birthday – not that he was a threat – one of the older farmers with two chocolate Labradors in tow. The threat was Jimmy; he’d recognised the man who groped her the previous weekend and who now seemed to be a regular companion. He was a self-assured sales type wearing a sharp suit, a fashionable hair style that curled around his ears, gleaming white teeth, and a permanent sun-tan. He flashed the cash as though it was confetti.Tania was all his – not this flash fucker. Whichever way he looked at it, Jimmy had to be eliminated.Friday night: that night.Conditions were in his favour; a cold grey mist, almost foggy in places with isolated swathes of snow that lingered on. More snow was forecast, odds-on for a white Christmas.And his present would be Tania unwrapped.It was nine o’clock when Tania downed her drink, tugged at Jimmy’s sleeve and pointed at her watch. He nodded, turned to the others, and made a remark that drew guffaws of laughter and a bout of back-slapping.Not that Tania seemed to mind; her brazen smile indicated she enjoyed being the centre of attraction, the focus of male fantasies. Daniel folded up his newspaper and followed them out into the cold mist. His Cortina was parked near the entrance and he moved up to it, opened the driver’s door, got in, and waited.This time it was Jimmy’s BMW, but her house. He could tell by the route they chose; through Easington and along the road to Stonehouse Court. By the time he had parked and walked to where he could see her house, the lights were on inside. Her Range Rover was outside, so was another car parked outside a neighbouring cottage.They had arrived at the pub together, and by the way she had acted in the pub; it seemed as if she needed an early start the following morning. It wasn’t going to be an all-nighter.The neighbours - it was a risk he had to take. No noise, no interruptions. His plan for Jimmy had to be perfect. And it all depended on when she would take Caesar for his walk, and when Jimmy left. Would she stand at the door and wave goodbye...?He needn’t have worried. The lights went on, and Caesar was dumped out of the front door. He did his business and whined to be let back in. She appeared at the door in a slinky-satin housecoat, and Caesar shot back inside.The bedroom light came on briefly, then off. He waited. A few flakes of snow began to fall; if it continued it would be enough to deaden his footsteps. The cold seeped into his bones, but he ignored it and focused his energies on Jimmy.On his BMW.But the timing had to be perfect. Surprise and speed – and no witnesses.Risky.He fingered the cosh in the folds of his coat. He had practised the move time and again in his garage. He went through it once more in his mind.Jimmy would exit the house in the early hours. He would walk across the light coating of snow towards his car, unlock the driver’s door, and pull it open. He would bend slightly to slide in. His head would be vulnerable. A black shape would materialise behind him.Then it would go black...

The first time Jed investigated the neglected gartenhaus -- its bottom planks veiled among clusters of blue and white forget-me-nots -- he sensed that the discarded padlock by the entrance was an open invitation.Noe Nobel, who disappeared without trace, had been a less than renowned physicist -- and totally barmy according to Der Spiegel. Jed, his nephew, was the sole inheritor of the estate -- a run-down cottage and orchard in Hamburg, both as unkempt as the man himself.Jed jiggled the door handle -- surprisingly, the door swung open on well-oiled hinges.He peered inside.And stepped back outside, shaking his head. He circled the building before coming back to the door.This time, he took a deep breath and stepped inside.In front of him a lounge at least three times larger than the gartenhaus itself, full of vibrating cogs and whirling wheels that hummed contentedly. His eyes were drawn to a console in the middle that had a padded armchair in front of a large-screen TV. He walked up to it and sat down in the chair.Immediately straps appeared from the armrests and fastened his body, and what looked like a cockpit rose up from the floor in front of him. On it, three buttons marked PAST, PRESENT and FUTURE glowed.The TV screen lit up; it showed a picture of the cottage. An embodied Voice seemed to emanate from built-in speakers.‘So you’ve found it. Press the PAST button. Now.’Jed’s hand hovered over the buttons. What was happening? Uncle Noe? Or a trap?Eeny-meeny-miny-moe.He plunged his finger down on the FUTURE button......The TV screen lit up. The cottage on the TV screen dissolved; replaced by a high-rise, metallic-looking, condo building. The cockpit descended back into the floor and the straps unbuckled.Jed shrugged, heaved himself out of the chair. On the top of the console was a remote-control --was that there earlier?Coloured buttons; he pressed a red one.The Voice sounded. ‘Oh dear. I’d advise you to leave before...’The door burst open. Storm-troopers (so it seemed) rushed into the room. A flash from a lance-like rod stunned Jed, and his legs buckled beneath him as he fell to the floor.A radio device crackled. ‘Trouble inside D block. Riot on 13th floor. Leave now. The insurgent can wait.’Jed came to, alone. The room seemed untouched, but the gentle humming now sounded strained. He pulled himself up, staggered over to the armchair, and slumped down.Immediately he was strapped in and the cockpit rose from the floor.There was a commotion close by --anywhere would be better than here. He crossed his fingers and hit the PAST button......sounds of tortured machinery, then stillness. The Voice. ‘Straps released. Open the door.’ His uncle stood outside, flanked by two militia. An autumn wind plucked at his greatcoat, as he cupped his handcuffed hands in Jed’s.‘Timing is everything,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry that your Bar Mitzvah is cancelled, young man. Directives from the Third Reich.’

Author

Bio: British age 74 (young) retired and living in Thailand. Profession, Charity Auditor working in some 40 countries over the last ten years before retiring. Familiar with writing reports to professional standard. Sense of humour, reserved, realist and down to earth. Enjoy writing with a passion for the unusual.Genre: Fiction crime Email: stephenterry747@hotmail.comPhone: 0066823250835 Thailand